


Rock on the Whisky

by ingopain



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Role reversal, M/M, Shadowhunter Magnus, Warlock Alec, s1e12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 09:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15045911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingopain/pseuds/ingopain
Summary: “Look, this is my wedding we’re talking about,” Magnus said, adjusting his cufflinks. “Either I go down in style, or I don’t go down at all.”“Magnus, darling,” Camille said, watching him with that wickedly amused expression of hers, “the fact that you’re associating our wedding with going down says much about your mindset on this affair.”A day in the life of Magnus Bane, Shadowhunter Extraordinaire, and the elephant-sized warlock who’s just now beginning to love him. Season 1, Episode 12 inspired.





	Rock on the Whisky

**Author's Note:**

> Meant to be oneshot, but chapter number left unspecified just in case.

 

 

 

 

 “Look, this is my wedding we’re talking about,” Magnus said, adjusting his cufflinks. “Either I go down in style, or I don’t go down at all.”

 “Magnus, darling,” Camille said, watching him with that wickedly amused expression of hers, “the fact that you’re associating our wedding with _going down_ says much about your mindset on this affair.”

 Magnus raised an important finger at her. “Trust me, if this were a proper affair,I would _go down_ with you in a considerably more magnificent equipment than this-” He gestured irritably down his suit, outrageously conservative, about two centuries out of style, and therefore typical Idris taste, “-this cardboard bodycase I’m wearing. Raziel, I’m disgracing myself.”

 “You’re pining after that warlock,” Camille said. Magnus buried his face in his hands.

 “He’s the warlock of my life,” he moaned. “I’ve only just met him! I haven’t even had the chance to kiss him yet! Not a chaste peck!” His voice was getting progressively louder. “Look at his face- look at those _abs_!I was going to _eat him alive._ ”

 Camille laughed out loud, the jerk. “Oh, he was going to let you, on the first day. And then you had to go and insist on courting him first, restaurant reservations and all. Pssh. I thought you were past obsessing over those tedious processes.”

 Magnus gritted his teeth. “Remind me why we’re talking about my could-have-been-boyfriend ten minutes before we get married?”

 Camille didn’t bat an eyelash. “Because Raphael barged into my room to tell me you were weeping pathetically and in no state to draw a straight line with a crayon, much less a permanent binding rune on my wrist?”

 “I wasn’t weeping,” Magnus said indignantly. “I wouldn’t ruin my makeup.”

 “Yes, I see the effort. You’ve been fanning your eyes for the past fifteen minutes.”

 “He won’t ever see me again.” Magnus groaned. “God, I don’t want to ever see me again.”

 “Eh, you will, sweet. Soon.”

 Magnus stopped fiddling with his cufflinks. There was something in the way she said- Magnus very dearly wanted to believe Camille had said it as a reassurance, but Camille never reassured people. She subverted people. She obliterated innocent lives and laughed over the ruins. Magnus gripped her by the shoulders.

 “Camille,” he said, slowly, not wanting to hear the answer and at the same time desperate needing to know, “What did you do?”

 “I invited him to the wedding,” Camille said, casually, like those three words did not instantly and completely shatter Magnus’ nerves.

 “Invited him?”

 “Alexander Lightwood.”

 “I know his name!” He had possibly imagined it too many times, adorned with hearts and diamonds, carved in place of the peeled bark of some tree and alphabetically holding hands with his own name. “You invited him. Why? Do you actually want to be widowed on your wedding day?”

 “If we marry and then you die, two-thirds of your material possessions are mine,” Camille said. “I’ll be sure to hold a labelled dildo exhibition at the New York Institute in your memory.”

 “Camille, this is not funny. You can play with me. I can survive your tortures. But you can’t do this to Alexander. He can’t watch me get married. He... he...” Magnus let go of Camille’s shoulders and took a step back, staggering like someone had struck him. “He loves me. I made him love me.” He sank onto the sofa, and really, he knew better than to reveal this part of his heart to a woman he was getting hitched with today, even if she mostly thought of it as a joke.

 “You’re serious,” Camille said softly, and it was she who laid her hands on Magnus’ shoulders this time. “Magnus, look at me.”

 Magnus looked at her. “He’s not an affair.” That was all he could say. Oh, he could say easily, _I love him,_  because Magnus had already loved many people many times in his short life, even Camille, a few years back, and he knew better than anyone else that yes, he did love that warlock, like a young blossom, like a vow from his heart. But Alexander... Alexander’s love was the first in four hundred years. Faced with the weight of that, it seemed insulting to say out loud that Magnus loved him, like he was putting up cheap coal in front of a mountain of pure gold and declaring that they had the same weight. That gold was Magnus’. He hadn’t known what he would receive, when he asked, and now it was his. Alexander was not an affair. He was not love, either, not in the sense that Magnus had loved in the past. Alexander was a first in Magnus’ life, too. Magnus had yet to find a word.

 “Magnus, we have to go,” Camille said.

 “The wedding,” Magnus said dully. “I can’t watch him watch me get married.”

 “I don’t think you’ll have to.” There was gentleness in Camille’s voice, a rare thing. And she was right. Magnus wouldn’t have to.

 “He won’t come,” he said. Why would he come? Magnus had made it clear last night that whatever was beginning between them was over, that he couldn’t put it before the demands of his heritage and his duty. _I won’t ask again,_  he had said. Alexander had looked at him, stricken, understanding perfectly well what he was referring to. _Alexander, you with me?_ he’d always asked, too many times to count, going out the door of his loft after the usual shadowhunter-downworlder business was done. What he really meant was, _you finally agreeing to a date today?_ Magnus had never gotten an answer, not until last week, when it had taken a near-fatal hit to the stomach to have Alexander kneeling by his anatomically unstable body and whisper frantically, _yes, yes, whatever you want, just stay with me._  And Magnus had been so glad.

 “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be here,” said Camille, helping him up from the sofa. “Is he the sit-still-and-watch type, though? He didn’t seem to be. Now escort me to the aisle. I want a front seat to the drama I think I’ll be seeing very soon.”


End file.
